


Normal Isn't Enough

by RideBoldlyRide



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: And I'm forcing him to face his demons early, Book 3 divergence, Dark!AU ish, Divergence after The Painted Lady, F/M, I would tag Maiko, I'm going to tell you that now., Painted Lady AU, That never makes for smooth sailing, There's a reason Zuko left on his own in DotBS, but honestly? It's not going to last long enough to be worth it, this is going to be a rough ride
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26625778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RideBoldlyRide/pseuds/RideBoldlyRide
Summary: Zuko is forced to face his demons when the wanted vigilante known as The Painted Lady is captured. Despite the rumor that she was no vigilante, but rather the spirit herself, when she is brought before the Fire Lord, it is clear to all observers that she is nothing more than a young woman. But to Zuko, the icy blue eyes of the Avatar's waterbender spell doom for his hopes of a return to a normal life.***“Parade her.” Azula’s words were quick, but dismissive.An eyebrow arched at his daughter’s words, but the smirk that pulled at his lips belied the potentially aggressive manner of his approval. “Go on.”She was studying her nails as she spoke. “Parade her, let the people see her as a false deity, then unmask her yourself. You’ll demean her before the people, while showing yourself to be Agni-blessed.”The smirk on Ozai’s face transitioned into a full feral grin.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 65





	Normal Isn't Enough

**Author's Note:**

> A warning in advance. 
> 
> This will be my side project, but I'm solidly invested, so.... It's either going to be a rush of updates or slow. 
> 
> Also, this will probably get dark, and I may have to change my ratings eventually. We'll see. Please leave some love- this type of genre is kinda new for me, so I'd love to know what you think!

“She’s at the harbor, my Lord.”

The whispered voice at the Fire Lord’s ear caught Zuko’s attention. When Ozai nodded slightly, the Fire sage stepped back, bending slightly at the waist. Turning his attention back to the council gathered before them. He cleared his throat, and the bickering immediately silenced. Curiosity peaked in Zuko, especially as a feral smile started to pull at his father’s lips.

“It appears that the Painted Lady has been captured.”

Muted praise scattered through the gathered men, but his father hardly let it settle before speaking again.

“I have just been informed that she is being held at the harbor. It is time we unmask this imposter before our people, don’t you think?”

A councilman spoke up, nodding. “She has been causing some unrest in the northern reaches of the Fire Nation. To reveal her as another rabble raiser would diminish her affect.”

“Indeed.” Ozai leaned back, bringing his fingers to his chin thoughtfully. “What would be the most effective way, though?”

“Parade her.” Azula’s words were quick, but dismissive.

An eyebrow arched at his daughter’s words, but the smirk that pulled at his lips belied the potentially aggressive manner of his approval. “Go on.”

She was studying her nails as she spoke. “Parade her, let the people see her as a false deity, then unmask her yourself. You’ll demean her before the people, while showing yourself to be Agni-blessed.”

The smirk on Ozai’s face transitioned into a full feral grin. 

“Yes.” He glanced up at the council still before him, and Zuko knew that he would find no dissenting voice. Lastly, Ozai’s gaze fell upon him. “Your thoughts, Zuko?”

When he spoke, he was surprised to find that his voice was steady. The last time he spoke in one of these meetings… “What has she done?”

“Why does that matter?” There was a dangerous edge to the Fire Lord’s voice, and Zuko swallowed,

“Depending on the severity of her actions, or her cause behind them, she may be viewed more as a martyr than an imposter.” The words that escaped him felt poisonous, foul in his mouth.

“True. But I hardly think that destroying a metal factory in a far off province is hardly enough to warrant martyrdom. Her legend is more powerful, and needs to be undercut.”

His father’s dark gaze moved off him, and he felt the sweat that had begun to gather under his collar drip down his back.

“This council is adjourned. However, I would expect you all to be present once this ‘Painted Lady’ arrives in my courtyard.”

To a man, they rose, and offered deep bows before their Lord. With a gesture, the fire sage was summoned forward. 

“Prepare this imposter for her show. Bring her at dusk.”

The sage bowed deeply again as he retreated. “Yes, my Lord.”

* * *

Her hands were clasped in full irons, but the red marks striping her arms and shoulders caught the fading sunlight. A poor man’s facsimile of a palanquin was hoisted on the guards shoulders, and there were no curtains, no cushions, no illusions of comfort. This was confirmed by the chains that held the woman in her kneeling position on its surface. Her overly large straw hat hid her face from the observers, but there was no doubt of her identity. 

The Painted Lady.

Pride held her spine straight under the weight of the people’s gaze, almost as heavy as the chains at her joints. 

There was a few moments of reprieve and awe as she was carried above them. It lasted as long as the first rotten tomato-carrot took to splatter across her skin. She didn’t flinch. 

Even as distant as the harbor was from the gates that they stood at, Zuko could see her restraint, and he found himself a little in awe. As more rotten food was flung at her, she kept her poise, unyielding, graceful.

In contrast, the smug demeanor of his father permeated the air around him. 

As she neared, the sound of the crowd washed over them, a mixture of surprise and disdain. Stopping just shy of the Fire Lord, the guards brought her palanquin before him. With a grand gesture, Ozai stepped forward, raising his voice to be heard. The rabble instantly died before him.

“So this is the legendary Painted Lady? The great spirit? I would not think a spirit could be bound by chains of iron.”

A wave of his hand and the rice hat was off her head and held aloft.

“You are no spirit.” His tone commanding, almost all eyes flicked up to where he held the hat above them, a spark dancing across its surface. It fell to ash in a breath.

Zuko’s eyes, however, were trained on the young woman strapped to the palanquin. His father was right, she was no spirit. But she was impossible to mistake. 

Katara’s bright blue eyes drilled into him, as cold as the southern seas of her home. 

A new fear sunk into his heart, and Zuko found it hard to swallow. Between them, his father bellowed.

“Tell me, girl, what right do you have to take on  _ our  _ spirit’s mantle?”

Her chilled gaze suddenly tore away from him, the world seemed muddled to Zuko. 

Abstractly, he watched his father demand the chains that bound her to the palanquin released, but he only heard the words as if from a great distance. Though he stood ramrod straight, the ground beneath his feet shifted as if out in a great storm on the sea. 

She stood at her full height, towered over by the Fire Lord, her hands still encased in iron before her. He watched his father’s lips move, and saw the sneer on her face as she responded. Zuko fixated on remaining upright. 

Jutting out a hand, Ozai clutched a handful of her hair, and turned her to the crowd. A vicious, malicious cry went out. He saw the steam waft from his father’s hand, and the smell of burning hair snapped Zuko from his reverie. The world returned to normal with a vertigo that sent his stomach reeling. He bit back at the bile, and watched as the heat in Ozai’s hand broke loose a handful of her hair, and she fell unbalanced to her bound hands and knees. The jar sent a cry from her lips, unbidden. The man laughed at her, and he let the scorched hair in hand free, the burnt ends catching easily in the breeze. 

Zuko was aware of the ice in her eyes, the tracks of tears on her cheeks, and he knew she was about to do something so very incredibly stupid. And there was no time, no way to stop her before she did it. 

Even as he stepped forward, she was already in motion, tackling the larger man at the knees, casting them both to the ground. She rolled away quickly, but not quickly enough. 

Fire was in Ozai’s hands, at his lips, in his eyes. He had faced that down once before, and yet when the fire licked up her now raised arms, Zuko stepped between them. 

In a flash his father was on his feet again, eyes wide with rage, staring down the young man standing between him and his prey. His son. 

“Boy, if you wish to live, you will step aside.” The words were surprisingly quiet but as sharp as a blade.

“This is one of the Avatar’s companions.” He bit down the bile that threatened to rise once more. 

“Step. Aside.”

“My Lord,” he didn’t flinch before the older man, but it was at the cost of his own palms, where his nails dug too deeply into them, “she is an asset that I think would be a great loss to his lordship if she were to die.”

He could hear the scoff under her breath, and he begged her silently to stay out of this, to let him get her out of the inferno’s wrath. Zuko knew that there was something to his request; at face value this would make sense. 

He hoped his father would see it that way.

The growl at the Fire Lord’s lips fell away, and instead he sneered down at his son. 

“A companion of the dead Avatar, you say?”

“Yessir.”

“And what information could she offer?”

“She is certain to know of any battle plans in regards to the plot that Azula discovered.” He spoke cryptically, knowing that his father would know of what he spoke. 

Dark eyes flickered to the favored child, and he raised a brow. Azula smirked back. 

“Fine.” Once more, his father’s gaze returned to him. “Keep this little pet of yours. But if she leaves your sight; if she so much as breathes the wrong way, nothing will stop me from giving the water girl a poetic end.” 

A flame bloomed between them, held in a clawed hand. Golden eyes never left his father’s dark ones. 

“Even if that means going through you.”

_ Especially if that means going through you. _

He could hear the words his father meant more clearly than the ones spoken. Vaguely, he could hear Katara’s breath coming in ragged behind him, and in that moment, it was all he could hear: sob-wracked breathing and the crackle of his father’s flame. 

Then Ozai stepped back, extinguishing the fire in his hand. 

As Zuko released his held breath, he vaguely heard the Fire Lord’s words once more bellowing across the gates.

“Behold what this imposter truly is, a peasant with a parlor trick! Return to the true spirits of the Fire Nation. They will offer you strength, and we will once more show the world the might and the right of the Fire Nation!”

Zuko turned to the young woman now hunched over her arms, curled against her belly, unable to touch them, to soothe them, and he wondered, not for the first time, at the right that his people had to the honor they held in such high esteem.


End file.
